


In Two Deep

by fuzipenguin



Series: Trending on the Edge [18]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Dom/sub, Double Penetration in One Hole, Established Relationship, Headspace, M/M, Multi, Open Relationships, Other, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 23:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15739224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: Jazz has been wanting to be sandwiched between his two favorite doms for awhile now, but is it more than he can handle?





	In Two Deep

**Author's Note:**

> Previously a tumblr exclusive and now up for all to see!

                “Are you ready, pet?” Bluestreak asked, sliding his sticky hands over the slight swell of Jazz’s hips.

                Beneath his fingers, Jazz shook. His plating rattled audibly with the force of his tremors.

                “Yes, Master,” Jazz murmured, craning his neck to look over his shoulder at Bluestreak. His expression was pleading. “Please, Master.”

                “Yeah, Blue, I’m not getting any younger,” Ratchet interjected, his voice rough. From where Bluestreak’s knees brushed the insides of Ratchet’s legs, he felt a tremor there too.

                Pit, Bluestreak himself was shaking. Although this was technically for Jazz, all three of them had been looking forward to tonight.

                “Patience,” Bluestreak murmured, moving closer and positioning himself behind Jazz. “I could have sworn I learned that from you, Ratchet.”

                “Not exactly something I’m known for,” Ratchet returned, although they both knew that was a lie. Ratchet had patience in spades, both in the berth and in the medical bay. It was just that he suffered no fools.

                “Well, I must have learned it from someone. Up, Jazz. Just a little,” Bluestreak said, gently nudging Jazz’s hips. Jazz complied, lifting up on Ratchet’s spike. “Thank you, pet. Lean forward… let Ratchet support you.”

                Moaning faintly, Jazz did as instructed, snuggling up to Ratchet’s wide windshield. This left Jazz’s valve better exposed and Bluestreak fingered its rim, easily slipping a digit in alongside Ratchet’s spike. A second finger followed the first, and Jazz’s thighs quivered.

                “Please, Master, please!” Jazz cried out, tilting his aft backwards invitingly.

                “Stick it in him already!” Ratchet added as contribution.

                Bluestreak had to roll his optics a little at the impatience coloring Ratchet’s tone. So it was Bluestreak who was supposed to be keeping his head tonight? At least _Jazz’s_ neediness wasn’t new.

                “Give me a moment,” Bluestreak admonished, reaching for the bottle of lubricant. He was well slicked from overloading into Jazz once already, but he would never hurt his lover.

                At least not without prior approval and planning.

                Bluestreak poured some of the lube over his spike, working it in as he continued to thrust his fingers into Jazz. Amazingly, both Ratchet and Jazz stayed still although Jazz was whining desperately.

                Finally deeming himself wet enough, he removed his fingers and shuffled closer to Jazz. Spike tip directed at Jazz’s quivering valve rim, Bluestreak slowly pushed forward and upwards. Moments later, the resistance keeping him out abruptly fell away and Bluestreak’s spike slipped inside Jazz’s valve.

                Jazz choked out a cry, scrambling at Ratchet’s shoulders. Ratchet and Bluestreak together placed supporting hands on Jazz’s frame, holding him through the shock of the double penetration.

                “Easy… easy, Jazz,” Ratchet murmured. “Blue was just telling me you’ve taken his fist, so this is nothing in comparison.”

                “Just a little more abrupt than that,” Bluestreak added, carefully leaning forward to place a kiss on the nape of Jazz’s neck.

                “Yess... yes, ss- sirs,” Jazz stuttered, his body slowly beginning to relax, with obvious effort.

                After nearly a minute of reassuring words and touches, the frantic spastic clamp of Jazz’s valve calmed. Deeming him relaxed enough to continue, Bluestreak incrementally moved deeper, withdrawing and then sliding in further with every new pump of his hips.

                “You’re doing… very well,” Bluestreak panted, his control held in an iron grip. Jazz was so tight and Ratchet’s spike was hard and throbbing against his. Jazz was heavily modded and Bluestreak knew Jazz could take a fist and even wider. He wanted to slam into his lover, over and over again, but knew that even when he had penetrated Jazz in an extreme manner before, it had been done slowly and carefully. This couldn’t be rushed.

                “Thank you… thank you, Master,” Jazz replied in a thin mimicry of his normal voice. He continued to shake and shiver, otherwise frozen as Bluestreak worked him open. When Bluestreak finally bottomed out, practically plastered to Jazz’s dorsum, Ratchet rumbled an approving groan.

                “Finally,” he muttered. “We ready to move, little Blue?”

                “Yeah,” Bluestreak replied shakily. Moving sounded both awesome and intimidating. Would he be able to hold off overloading long enough for Jazz to get pleasure out of this?

                “Great…I’ll start.”

                Ratchet withdrew slightly and thrust back up, making Jazz bounce in his lap. Bluestreak clutched at him, optics whiting out as his sub reflexively rocked with the motion.

                “Oh, Primus,” Bluestreak muttered and then moved as well, sliding out only to thrust up when Ratchet sank back down. They quickly picked up a rhythm between them, one of them always fully seated within Jazz’s molten-hot valve.

                Jazz practically writhed on Ratchet’s lap once they started to pick up speed. He jerked and twitched and finally fell back against Bluestreak’s front, his audial horns framing Bluestreak’s chin. It was a little awkward, but the position allowed for Bluestreak to hold his partner close and even reach around to fondle his spike.

               “Oh, yes…. nngh, yes!” Jazz cried out, finally relaxing completely and allowing them to move him and into him as they wished. “So good…. soooo good… feel so full… more, more, _more_ …”

               “Oh, we’ll give you more,” Ratchet growled, gripping Jazz’s hips and pulling him into the medic’s next thrust. “You think you feel full now? Wait until we stuff every crevice inside you with our translfuid.”

               Jazz jerked again and Bluestreak felt Ratchet’s fingers brush against his before they began rubbing Jazz’s anterior node.

              “Please! Please, sirs! Please fill me… use me and fill me up… oh, Primus, both of you… both of you inside me…”

              Bluestreak gripped Jazz’s throbbing spike and gave it a good pull, a spiraling cry emerging from Jazz’s arched throat with the motion.

              “Both of us,” Bluestreak agreed. “Ratchet and I both. We’ve got you, Jazz. We’re not gonna let you go for a long time… not with that sweet little valve of yours taking us both.”

              Jazz whined, a high pitch sound which abruptly cut off as he went limp in Bluestreak’s arms. Bluestreak grunted as he took Jazz’s full weight, keeping him upright. He blinked several times at the wall over Ratchet’s head before lightly jostling Jazz. His partner’s arms drooped to his side, no longer holding on to Ratchet.

              “Jazz? Jazz… are you all right?”

              But Jazz didn’t respond, and Bluestreak’s rhythm faltered. “Jazz? Can you tell me your color? Jazz!”

              “Shhh…” Ratchet murmured, hand reaching around to land on Bluestreak’s hip. “Keep going… **and switch to comms.**

 **Why? What…. I can’t see his face, is he ok?** Bluestreak worriedly asked, ice flowing through his lines. He stared at his mentor, optics demanding answers. **Why isn’t he responding?!**

 **He won’t be. He’s very deep right now,** Ratchet explained. **Has he never gone non-responsive before with you?**

 **Not like this… not so suddenly.** Bluestreak attempted to slide Jazz sideways a little to look into his face, but the smaller mech was too short. **Ratchet, I don’t like this.**

 **It’s all right,** Ratchet said reassuringly. **You’ve done this to me once or twice before. I just worked you through it… made sure I wasn’t doing any damage and kept going.**

**I have?**

              When had that happened? Of course, if he had gone into his own processor as thoroughly as Jazz had, he likely wouldn’t remember. And he recalled Ratchet telling him that he’d been in a very pervasive headspace before, but he’d never mentioned that Bluestreak was so out of it that he hadn’t responded.

 **You have,** Ratchet confirmed **. It will be all right, just stay calm. He can read your field even deep like this. We’ll release his charge and clean him up and he’ll come out of the headspace on his own.**

              Bluestreak nuzzled the top of Jazz’s helm, some of the panic subsiding at Ratchet’s calm and even tone. But he was still incredibly unnerved and desperately wanted to look into Jazz’s face, see for himself that there wasn’t an expression of distress there.

              He focused instead on Jazz’s EM field. It was barely there, typical of a mech in recharge or shut down. The wisps that Bluestreak could feel however, were ripe with contentment and satisfaction.

              Ratchet’s hand slipped off Bluestreak’s hip and nudged his hand, still lightly curled around the base of Jazz’s spike. It was still hard and his valve rippled like a mech near overload.

 **Keep going,** Ratchet urged, resuming his own thrusts. Much of the previous urgency was gone however, and his mentor’s motions seemed designed more towards stimulating Jazz’s valve. He kept grinding deep as if trying to press against Jazz’s ceiling node.

 **I don’t know if I can,** Bluestreak admitted, although he resumed stroking Jazz’s spike, trickles of pre-transfluid easing the way. A repetitive slick sound indicated Ratchet was working again at Jazz’s anterior node. Jazz’s valve was still a welcome clasp around his own spike, but it had depressurized some, his lust shoved aside in concern for his partner.

              “There a good boy,” Ratchet murmured when Jazz undulated slightly in their hold. “Gonna come for your Master, pet?”

 **Just keep talking to him then. Touch him, help me get him off,** Ratchet continued, just to Bluestreak.

              Well, that was easy enough. All Bluestreak wanted to do was touch Jazz, reassure himself that Jazz was still online and ok.

              “I want to feel you, Jazz. I want to feel that tight little valve of yours milking every last drop of spill out of us,” Bluestreak said, pressing his lips to the top of Jazz’s helm.

              Jazz groaned faintly. In Bluestreak’s hand, Jazz’s spike jerked, another dribble of transfluid welling up and over the head. A clench of Jazz’s calipers had Bluestreak reflexively thrusting again, despite the lessening of his own charge.

              “Yeah, that’s it. Blue was right: you’re one sexy little fragger, Jazz. And you look good pinned between the two of us.” Ratchet purred in a gravely voice. “We should do this more often.”

              Not if Jazz was going to give Bluestreak spark palpitations.

              But Jazz was starting to move with their thrusts again, pelvis rocking even if the rest of him was still. Apparently their stimulation of his array was working, and Bluestreak shoved aside his misgivings of any future threesomes in favor of getting Jazz through this one.

              “I want you to overload for me, pet,” Bluestreak commanded, stroking his partner faster. His other hand groped Jazz’s bumper, petting his headlights. “I want to see you dripping all over Ratchet.”

              Jazz’s engine revved and Bluestreak began thrusting more earnestly. His and Ratchet’s spikes slid against one another, hot lubricant welling up around them to drip down onto their laps. Jazz wasn’t loose by any stretch of the imagination, but his valve had accepted the width of their spikes, making movement within the port easier.

              “My beautiful boy,” Bluestreak murmured, closing his optics and holding Jazz tighter. A twist of Bluestreak’s hand had Jazz whining, spike throbbing urgently. “Come on… give in to it. Come for me.”

              The temperature between the three of them rose, all of their vents open and blasting out excess heat. But Bluestreak swore Jazz was the worst; his plating was overhot, practically burning where Bluestreak was pressed against him.

              “Your master gave you an instruction,” Ratchet growled, his free hand coming up to wrap around Jazz’s throat. “Do you want to be punished?”

              Bluestreak wasn’t sure if it was Ratchet’s not so subtle warning or that his frame had just had enough, but a second later, Jazz was crying out with a thin, warbling wail. His body jerked several times within Bluestreak’s grasp, spike spurting out hot trickles of transfluid that quickly drenched Bluestreak fingers.

              Ratchet swore, thrusting up deeply into Jazz as his valve overloaded too, clamping down around the two of them. Bluestreak had already been completely sheathed and he could easily feel Ratchet’s spike pulse multiple times in a row in quick succession. The pressure around Bluestreak’s spike rose exponentially as Ratchet’s transfluid was added to the depths of Jazz’s valve.

              Yet it still wasn’t enough to push Bluestreak over the edge. He was close, especially with his spike receiving such delightful sensations. But he ultimately was more concerned with his lover.

              Jazz seized a few times more before he relaxed into full body shivers. His valve continued to spasmodically cycle, automatically trying to draw the charge-filled transfluid deeper into his port and gestational tank. Panting, he sagged within Bluestreak’s embrace once more and Bluestreak couldn’t stand it any longer.

              He carefully drew back, slipping out of Jazz’s valve. A soft spatter heralded the wash of mixed fluids from Jazz’s valve, but Bluestreak didn’t care about the mess.

              “Very good, Jazz,” Bluestreak murmured. “Let’s get you laying down, shall we?”

              Jazz was a small mech, and Bluestreak was well used to picking him up and carrying him around. It took barely any effort at all to shift his grip and lift Jazz up, off Ratchet’s lap. His mentor watched him through slitted optics, but didn’t make any attempt to help.

              Bluestreak would have refused it anyway. Jazz was his to take care of.

              The opposite end of the bed was much drier, so Bluestreak half-carried, half-dragged Jazz there. He carefully laid him out on his back, Jazz limp and pliant.

              “Jazz? How are you feeling?” Bluestreak asked worriedly, staring down into Jazz’s dark visor. He stroked his lover’s face, running a thumb over the lower lip streaked with energon. Jazz had apparently bitten nearly through it sometime during the proceedings.

               Bluestreak continued to pet over Jazz’s frame, searching for any injuries. There didn’t seem to be any and even a gentle prodding of Jazz’s valve only produced a throaty sigh from his partner. Bluestreak’s fingers revealed no energon, only a copious amount of lubricant mixed with transfluid.

              “He’s fine, Blue,” Ratchet said, finally shifting to roll to his knees. He shuffled closer only to flop down at Jazz’s side with a gentle pat to his midsection. “Come lay down next to him. Keep talking to him. He’ll come up.”

              Besides running hot, Bluestreak admitted to himself that Jazz seemed no worse for the wear. He was just so very limp, though.

              Bluestreak withdrew a cloth from subspace as well as a small bottle of cleanser. He used both to begin wiping Jazz’s frame down, cleaning up the mix of fluids on his inner thighs and interface.

              “And I’ve done something like this?” Bluestreak asked, trying to keep his mind off how lifeless Jazz’s limbs were.

              “Yeah. Remember that time I whipped your doorwings?” Ratchet returned.

              “Actually… now that you mention it, I don’t remember a whole lot of that session,” Bluestreak commented with a shudder.

              That scene had been… intense. He hadn’t asked for it again since; the pain Ratchet had created had been what Bluestreak had wanted at the time, but it had been overwhelming to say the least. About halfway through the session, things had gotten hazy. The next clear thing he remembered was waking up on his stomach, door wings twitching in Ratchet’s grip as he massaged nanite gel into their surfaces.

               “That’s because you blacked out on me. Went as limp as Jazz is now. I finished what we had agreed upon for the session and then started cleaning you up. You didn’t speak to me for almost an hour and were pretty out of it for twice that after,” Ratchet explained. “I have a feeling Jazz will come up faster than that though; his systems are specially designed to reboot quickly in case of an emergency.”

               “Jazz has gone deep into his head before, but never like this. Never so suddenly and completely. It’s always been pretty gradual,” Bluestreak reported, hands shaking as they finished wiping Jazz down. “This was just…”

               “He’s all right,” Ratchet said soothingly, reaching across Jazz to grasp Bluestreak’s forearm. “I would have called a halt to things if I had been really worried, you know that.”

               Bluestreak nodded, optics still on Jazz’s face. The slackness of his expression was starting to lesson into small twitches of his lips and nasal ridge. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. And I do know that, but I was just…”

               “It’s all right, baby Blue. I understand,” Ratchet replied, giving him a small smile. “Jazz means a great deal to you.”

               “I just don’t want to break him,” Bluestreak said softly. Then he tensed as Jazz murmured something nonsensical and shivered. Bluestreak’s vents caught in anticipation and he stared down at Jazz, optics roving over his frame.

               “I don’t think you ever could, Blue. I think you’ve been doing a great job of fixing him, actually,” Ratchet murmured. Bluestreak barely heard him, concentrating instead on the dim glow behind Jazz’s visor indicative of his optics booting up.

               “Mm… Blue?” Jazz croaked, licking his lips and blindly rolling his head towards Bluestreak.

               “I’m here, Jazz. I’m right here,” Bluestreak replied quickly, reaching out a hand to cradle Jazz’s cheek. “How are you feeling?”

               “… wrecked,” Jazz finally said after swallowing and restarting his vocalizer a few times. “’swas good. Real good.”

               Bluestreak sagged in relief to hear the spark of Jazz’s regular voice, scratchy as it was. “I’m glad. Any soreness?”

               “Frag yeah,” Jazz returned immediately, making Bluestreak’s spark twinge again. “But the good kind. Like gonna walk with a limp for a week and but’ll be proud of it.”

               “You scared me a little,” Bluestreak admitted, unable to hide the waver in his voice. “You went limp so suddenly… you wouldn’t talk.”

               Jazz’s visor brightened and he tried to sit up, but barely made it an inch off the bed before falling back. “Babe…. oh, babe, I’m sorry,” he replied in a hushed voice. “It was just so good… to be between the two of you…”

               He turned his head and caught sight of Ratchet. “And you’re still here… thanks, Ratch.”

               Ratchet raised an orbital ridge. “I had my fun too, you know. But yeah, I’m still here. I’m here until you don’t want me anymore.”

               “Definitely want you here. My two big bad doms… like a dream come true…” Jazz said with a dreamy smile. He laboriously raised his hand and covered Bluestreak’s which was still pressed against Jazz’s cheek.

                “I’m ok. Green across the board. Can’t really move, but I feel good all over. And ready for cuddles, yeah?” Jazz said hopefully.

                Bluestreak leaned forward and nuzzled Jazz’s cheek, placing a light kiss there. “Absolutely. I can definitely do that. Ratchet?”

                The medic huffed, rolling over onto his side and throwing a leg over Jazz’s thighs. “ _Such_ a hardship,” he replied sarcastically, winking an optic at Jazz.

                Bluestreak dove back down to Jazz’s other side, snuggling up close to his lover. “Talk more later?” he asked, doing his very best to drape himself over every exposed inch of Jazz.

                “Yeah. When my head’s clearer. Now, all I want is the two of you,” Jazz murmured. His optics winked out, leaving his visor dark. But this time, Bluestreak knew it was because of encroaching recharge, a rest Jazz well deserved.

                “You have us,” Bluestreak promised. “All of me… as long as you need…”

                “Oh, Primus,” Ratchet sighed. “I’m leaving if the two of you are going to continue this sap.”

                Jazz laughed, a clear, uninhibited sound which did wonders for any lingering doubt in Bluestreak’s head.

                “No more sap, Ratch. Just sleep. And when I wake up… you and me are gonna finish Blue off, right?” Jazz murmured, snuggling into Bluestreak’s embrace while his frame heated in embarrassment. He hadn’t thought that his flagging arousal had been noted. Apparently it had.

                Ratchet’s engine purred eagerly. “Absolutely, Jazz. We’ll have to compare notes on how best to make him scream.”

                Bluestreak buried his face in Jazz’s shoulder and sighed. Why had he ever thought bedding the two of them at the same time was a good idea?


End file.
